And he couldn't touch her. He'd promised Jack.
Four
20 hours earlier
She hadn't been able to get close to Colin Davies. When they disembarked from the ship, he had hit the ground at Mach speed, tersely issuing orders. "Stone, get the manifests for the pallets and double check that we have all our shipments. Sometimes things go missing."
Jess had nodded.
He handed her a clipboard and a heavy backpack. The heat of his body seemed to surround her with a suffocating attraction. To which he seemed oblivious, damn him. Colin said softly, "Here are your supplies. Keep them with you at all times."
In training, she'd been warned to keep supplies on her person or they were likely to disappear. And if stuff disappeared, she'd be out of luck. Jess curled her arms through the pack and hefted the weight onto her shoulders. The familiar heaviness of her pack felt suspiciously like the twenty pounds of a Remington M24 SWS with a sound suppressor. Her sniper system of choice. What the hell? It was tempting to look inside right away but since she was deep in the chaos of the relief encampment, she wouldn't check the contents until she was alone.
Since this was her first official job with GHR she needed to follow protocol to the letter, and protocol dictated that she keep the contents of her personal backpack private.
"Johnson, you need to set up a staging area."
Keisha was the logistics person, setting up the trucks, distribution sites, and handling everything from the tents erected for the relief workers in the outlying field of the decimated airport, to coordinating with the local military when the roads were passable so that GHR could get the seed packets and water purification tablets in the hands of the inland villagers that needed them.
He barked out more orders as he split his attention between Jess, Keisha, and the SAT phone practically attached to his ear, and answered just about any question thrown at him. Jess wanted to get him alone for just a few minutes so that she could find out what he was really doing here.
But after twelve hours on the ground, she wondered if she'd ever be able to get him alone. And she really needed to talk to him about her duties. Although GHR served both the needs of the individual and the overall country, so far they hadn't done anything but set up.
For her first time out, Jess was just a worker grunt. She hadn't had time to train for anything else. She was also backup security, in case the local population got a little too restless while waiting in line for their supplies. Sadly it happened.
Colin was mainly supposed to be the second prong, the money guy, meeting with the small country's leader to facilitate transferring the pledged funds into the country's bank accounts so that the clearing of debris and then re-building of the infrastructure could get started. Although, once that was accomplished, he'd be in the thick of things helping distribute supplies as well.
After a really long day and no opportunity to speak to Colin, she had finally opened her pack.
She hated it but she'd been right.
When she’d gone to inspect the contents of her backpack, the elite sniper rifle stared back at her from the shadowed depths of the bag. This was no crowd control weapon and employee defense tool. This weapon was designed for one thing only.
Killing.
A heavy despair settled over her. What had she gotten herself into? And what hadn't her brother told her? She'd like ten minutes alone in a room with Jack right now. The questions were piling up and she had no one to talk to.
She had no choice but seek out Colin Davies and find out just what the hell was going on.
Half an hour later, she approached his tent which served as both his office and his sleeping quarters. The heavy canvas structure was set off to the side, as close to the encroaching woods as it could get without actually being in the trees.
Jess knocked at the flap and then pushed her way inside.
The temperature outside had cooled to a sweltering ninety-five degrees. A battery run camp lantern hung over his workspace, giving off a soft glow and turning the atmosphere in the tent intimate.
Colin sat at his 'desk', a flimsy card table, looking no less dangerous or sexy than he had six months ago after he'd diffused the bomb. However, his attitude now came across as uninterested, even bored. As if he were completely unaffected by her presence, as if he hadn't had his tongue down her throat within hours the first time they'd met.
"What do you need, Stone?" He signed a paper with a flourish and then looked up from the stack of shipping manifests and worn spiral notepad on the desktop.
"I need to talk to you about the contents of my backpack."
"No, you don't." His mouth tightened, his full lips flattening so subtly that she wasn’t even sure she'd seen it as he looked at her without actually looking at her. It was a nifty trick.
"Uh, yeah, I really do."
"I'd advise against it." He was concentrating on the sheet in front of him and not giving her concerns the time of day. Since she was trained to notice small details she observed that his fingers stayed loose and firm on the pen he held. He wasn't taking her seriously. And that pissed her off.
"Don't freaking patronize me." Her voice rose.
In a flash he had shoved back the metal folding chair and circled around the flimsy card table. He stood so close she could feel the heat from his body surround her. Like he was a magnetic tractor beam and she was a cross-section steel, sniper rifle receiver, her body gravitated toward him involuntarily. "This is not the time to raise your voice," he said almost soundlessly, his words barely audible in the stifling confines of the dark tent.
God, she really wanted to step back, step away from the blinding attraction that hit her every time she was near him. But she recognized the unspoken words of his body language and she could not afford to show any weakness. She couldn't let him know how much he affected her. Especially since he seemed completely unaware of her as a woman. So she stayed still, her body far too close to his, and focused on her larger problem. "This is not what I signed up for."
If anything he leaned closer. Her heart thudded in her chest and her nipples beaded at the scent of warm, sweaty male and a slight hint of Taylor's sandalwood and cedar aftershave. "You know your way around the contents, correct?"
He knew the answer. She'd used the same rifle in London last year.
"Why do I have a death stick?" she snapped in a soft voice. The privacy in the relief tent village was nonexistent and she sure didn't want anyone else to hear their discussion about the contents of her bag.
Before she could blink, Colin wrapped his arms around her and cradled her close.
One of the things that struck her in London was the overwhelming physical reaction that hit her when they were in the same room. Her pulse slowed, her blood thudded through her veins, pooled in her groin, and tingled in the tips of her fingers. Oddly, the sensations were similar to her physiological responses when she was getting ready to take a shot.
Adrenaline dumped into her system as he nuzzled the ultra-sensitive spot behind her ear. For anyone observing them through the tent walls, their silhouettes would be highlighted by the lantern and create a completely different impression about what was happening between them. "Not now."
Jess pressed away from his embrace before she lost all reason, fighting the instinct to snake her arms around him and put her tongue in his mouth.
She slung the bag onto the dirt floor at their feet. "When will be a good time?"
When he didn't answer, she eyed the SAT phone on his desk. She really needed to talk to someone about this. If he wouldn't answer, she'd call Jack.
Colin took note of where her gaze was focused. "Not a chance."
Right. She knew that. The odds that satellite communications were being monitored was one hundred percent. "I'm not leaving this tent until I get some answers."
He released her waistband and flexed his hands then curled them into fists, as if trying to resist touching her again. But they were still so close their bodies brushed with each inhale and exhale of breath. The temperature in the small tent ramped up about a thousand degrees. Her nipples tightened and her sex softened.
God, she was trying to resist the siren lure of lust that dumped into her system with the proximity of his mouth. He rubbed his nose along the shell of her ear and his breath puffed erotically against her skin, the actions completely at odds with his next words. "They just confirmed the first deaths from cholera."
She couldn't think. She swayed toward him, and wondered what cholera had to do with the way her blood buzzed and her breath shortened.
Colin stepped back, the loss of his body heat like an ice bath. She swore she had felt his lips against her hair. But in a back to business manner, he pulled out his smart phone, sifted through pictures until he found the one he wanted. Then he held the phone close to her so she could see.
Jess stared at the picture. Henri LeRoy, the president of the small island country, was...taking a bath? Her brain could not make the connection between the picture and the contents of her backpack.
This was grounds for the Global Humanitarian Relief, and her brother, to give her a sniper rifle?
She blinked, looked up at Colin, trying to ignore the raging attraction that wasn't going away no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. He was practically dead on his feet, the shadows under his eyes should have detracted from his physical presence but instead his body still screamed sex on a stick. She wondered if he'd look that worn out after spending a weekend in bed on six hundred thread count sheets and living off room service.
“That bath water is bottled.” His words were so soft she had to lean closer, and was sucked into a vortex of arousal so strong, it took a few seconds for his meaning to sink in.
The country was drowning in sewage. Their infrastructure destroyed. No running water. Tent cities. Starvation. Limited medical supplies and personnel. A shortage of water purification tablets. Clean water tanker trucks couldn't get to outlying areas because the roads needed to be cleared of rubble or were simply so damaged they ceased to exist any more.
And LeRoy was using precious bottled clean water to take a bath?
Colin leaned forward until his mouth was a hairsbreadth away from her ear. “He’s dirty.” The puff of breath against her neck shivered over her.
He wasn't talking about LeRoy needing a bath.
A sick feeling churned in the pit of her stomach as the lukewarm military MRE spaghetti and meatballs she'd slurped down for dinner churned up acid.
However she took his meaning, she was going to make him say it.
She'd given up that life. She'd given up 'targeted killings', a nice sanitized phrase for what really happened. Assassination.
That's why she’d taken this relief job. To help people.
"But...that's not why I took this job," she replied helplessly. She swayed toward him, as her mind rejected the truth that he was shoving at her, replacing her ideals with a completely different reality.
"You're going to have to take that up with Jack." Colin stepped back. "Your brother," he said forcefully.
She had no idea what prompted the statement. Colin knew Jack was her brother. Why bring that up? "Believe me. I will but—"
Colin crowded into her personal space again. "Up until now, it was believed LeRoy was doing everything possible to speed the recovery from the earthquake," Colin continued softly. He was pressed up against her. His lips brushed hers, even as his hands curled around her waist. To anyone outside the tent, they probably looked like lovers, with his arms curled around her waist and her breasts pressed against his chest. But she could feel the resistance to her body in the the stiff way he held her tight to him yet also seemed to be keeping her away.
They had been lovers. But with every word, her attraction fizzled and deflated. Because, if they were only here to do good work, there would be no need for Colin to have surveillance against the country's leader. And since Jack had specifically told her to follow Colin Davies' instructions, he'd prepared for a worst-case scenario and supplied her with a sniper rifle. A sense of despair at her naivete settled over her.
Before she could wallow more, Colin spoke again, "This photograph and the damning financial evidence tell a different story."
"What evidence?" Betrayal burned in her gut.
"Aid money went missing." Colin said softly, "We’ve had forensic accountants working around the clock to find it."
"Where?" But the dread in her stomach continue to build. It was going to be bad.
He pulled her toward his desk. Colin sat down abruptly, spread his legs and pulled her into the V of his thighs. Her body snugged up against his, her core and his erection were in perfect alignment. She was so close she could see the striations of gray in his pale eyes. Heat, that had nothing to do with the temperature outside, rose between them.
Colin slapped at a report on top of his desk. "In the LeRoy's numbered bank account on Turks and Caicos."
Missing aid. The leader of the country was stealing from the poor, starving, devastated, dying citizens. She pressed her forehead to his, and cupped his jaw. As if his skin was like a touchstone to the truth. She wished she could rewind and change her decision to go to work for for her brother. To ask more questions in the interview process. To maybe investigate the company a little further. Instead of jumping at the chance to get to work for a relief organization and her half brother, and ignoring the little niggle of doubt that crept in when Jack had asked about her sniper experience. Fuck.
But still she grasped at straws. "But GHR is a relief organization." As if she could insist that's all they were.
"Quite right." He regarded her steadily from with his unusual gray eyes. Eyes she'd likened to a cloudless sky when he'd been sliding into her thick, hot, and hard. Jess's breath stuttered in her chest as she remembered.
"Most of the time," he finished.